


Wipeout

by Odificus



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Illustrated, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:18:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odificus/pseuds/Odificus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meenah Peixes is not good at interpersonal relationships.</p><p>Latula Pyrope is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. -> ACT ONE: Friendship is Difficult when you are Great (and also Awesome)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bramblePatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bramblePatch/gifts).



We open upon you, our supremely attractive and competent Tyrian Heroine, out of her element and out of luck.

But how did you, a future empress (yikes, let's not think about THAT one right now, shall we?) and all around fantastic example of a troll (a much more apt description in your honourable opinion), end up on the (not so) mean streets of this grungy Beforian coastal city? 

 

  


\--> ENGAGE IN A REGAL FLASHBACK... FLASHBACK.... FLASHBACK....

  


The repetitive text above harkens you back to cheesy red/black switch situation comedies, which you would never admit to actually enjoying (except under the duress of personal narration. And even that's pretty fucking difficult). Sadly, this tale is no work of serialized television fiction. Instead, it is your less than satisfactory life, although it would most likely receive excellent ratings if it were broadcast.

Your pseudo-four-camera set up memories find you in an underwater party. This party? It was horrifically lame. Super lame. Megaultralame. You can feel yourself getting lamer by the second by merely existing in its presence and needing to invent newer, more significant qualifying words into order to portray its lameness.

And just who could be the host of such a tooth-pulling event?

  


  


Yeah, it's this douchewoggle.

Cronus Ampora has been a constant (and unwanted) presence in your life since you both hatched in the caverns, and subsequently threw yourselves face first into the dark Beforan sea to live your lives as the nobility your were genetically predestined to be. 

  


hey, meenah. meenah. meeeeeenah.

what

one could say you look.... magical in the wvater tonight

.................................

  


Did you mention he has also been relentlessly hitting on you (and anything with a pulse) across every damn quadrant since about 30 seconds after you hit the water? Hell, you're not even sure how a wriggler could flirt so relentlessly, and would accuse yourself of exaggerating if you didn't remember it with the up most awful clarity. It is at the point where it has become pretty much background noise. And it looks like the background noise/wannabe wizard-pirate-fashion disaster is leaning red this week. Lucky you.

Aaaaaand now his hand is on your shoulder. And slowly headed south. Nope. Nope nope nope.

As used to Cronus as you are, this come on was the seaweed that broke the horrormanatee's back. You finally had to face the facts: although you, personally, are super great, your social life? Not so much. Seeing as it only consists of Cronus and his equally lame sea dwelling cohorts, you came to a sudden realization:

You require new friends. And you require them 10 fucking minutes ago.

You abscond the fuck outta that lame gig at once, Ampora swimming at your heels like some pathetic aquatic puppybeast. 

meenah? wvhere are you going, my delicate cuddlefish? 

up, so outta my way ampora

wvhy wvould you wvant to go THERE? stay dowvn here, my swveet significant otter, awvay from those uncouth surface jerks 

ya know what, pompous fuckwit? I can do better than these 10000 leagues of sea dwelling arsewipes any sweep!!! Any! Fuckin! Sweep! I'm OUT

  


\-->BASK IN PERSONAL FAILURE

  


Needless to say, you have so far failed in that declaration entirely. 

The surface has proved to be a strange and foreign land, sadly full as as many dipshits as underwater. Everyone up here either takes one look at your symbol/colour/punk-ass outfit, and hightails it outta there. Or pontificates about some lame shit to you, thinking you give a damn. You do not give a damn. You never had any damns to give.

This whole experience is humiliating. You can't go back to your hive, as Ampora is probably waiting outside your hive to come onto you in whichever quandrant he's desperate for this week and rub your face in the single shortcoming you now realize you have. You are contemplating venturing to the fucking MOON in lieu of your mediocre failure, when--

  


  


ow ow ow 

oh, h3y! 

th1nk you could toss m3 my bo4rd, broh3im? Th4nks!!!! 

  


  


?????

???

?

??


	2. -->ACT TWO: OCEANIC SKATEBOARDING BOGALOO

Her name is Latula Pyrope, and... she's pretty damn rad.

Well, you haven't learned that quite yet. At this point in your narrative, she is upside down in a heap on the sidewalk in front of you, laughing like a loonbeast despite her unfortunate predicament. What is her deal, eh?

  


Wo4h, gu3ss 1 c4n't l4nd th3m 4ll, 3h? Wh4t3vs, 1'll g3t 1t n3xt t1m3!

  


You saunter over, more out of curiosity than any underlining desire to check upon her well being. Latula drags herself up without your help, grabbing her misplaced glasses, and sticks out a hand with a broad grin to introduce herself to you. 

  


Pyrop3. L4tul4 Pyrope! Qu33n of th3 gr1nd, m1str3ss of th3 B3for4n sk4t3 sc3n3--

what the flyingfish fuck is this thing?

  


  


You grip the wheeled white death-board that had rolled over to you tightly, distrustful of its nefarious object-related intentions. You've seen its handwork so far, and you are less than impressed. Latula just laughs off your sour look.

  


1t's just my bo4rd, dud3! For h4ng1ng t1ght and h4ul1ng m3 from on3 pl4c3 to 4noth3r! W41t, 4r3 you t3ll1ng m3 you'v3 n3v3r gon3 bo4rd1ng b3for3!??! No w4y, th4t's th3 l34st r4d th1ng 3v3r! C'mon, 1'll show you how to us3 th1s b4d boy, you d1g?

  


And, although you do not initially 'dig' this proposition, you obtain the ability to do so throughout the day. Latula is enthusiastic about her death-defying craft, and seems to extract some delight in attempting (and failing) to teach you to "pop 4 tot3s w1cked oll13, m4n!!" It feels more likely that you 'popped' one of your shoulders out of alignment instead, but the lesson is fun none the less. 

Surprisingly enough, Latula also seems to tolerate your over-all presence as enthusiastically as she teaches skateboarding. You spend the entire evening after the impromptu lesson gallivanting around the city, scaring onlookers with sharp teeth and sweet moves. She tells you about her love of boarding and her dorky, on-again-off again matesprit. He sounds like a bit of a chump, in your not-so-humble opinion, but you use every available ounce of diplomacy in your possession to keep that statement to yourself. In turn, you explain to her about your one true love (sweet cash dollars, boonbucks and everything that glitters gold under the pink moon), and your various pressing annoyances with life (namely, Ampora. And your place in society in generally. But mostly Ampora.) She states out loud that he sounds like a total chump. You break to indulge in a round of mutual laughter over Cronus Ampora's chumpitude. 

  


  


In conclusion, you two get along well.

Exceedingly well.

And you are sure, somehow, someway, something is going to happen to fuck this up regally.


	3. --> ACT THREE: RETURN OF THE DICKWEED KING

In the early hours of the morning, the two of you retreat to the seaside just outside of the city. Regardless of the douches under the sea, your hive still remains there, and you should probably head back sooner or later. The night ain't getting any younger, after all.

  


hey, so, i've actually had a pretty wicked day

i was kinda contemplatin fuckin off to the moon for a while there, but then you kinda crashed over me to

thanks

No probl3mo, g1rl! 4nd if you w4nn4 com3 cr4sh 4t my pl4c3 som3t1m3, th3r3'd b3 no obj3ct1ons h343--

Meenah, wvhat the shell?!!?

  


Cronus Ampora, ruiner of all things halfway decent, stands picturesquely at the water’s edge, thrusting an accusing finger in your general direction.

  


WVHAT are you doing?! WVHAT WVHAT WVHAT ARE YOU DOING??

You ditched me for this landdwvellin loser? She's nothing! And further more...!

The obscenity-ridden tirade that Cronus delves into at this point is so horrifically offensive, you feel as if acknowleding it fully in written text, be it narrative based or otherwise, would actually degrade your personal quality as a Troll. Which, to contextualize, would take a whole damn lot as you are hands down super great. However, at a certain point his crudely-fueled pontificating delves into a scathing critique of the horrific wvalking and talking teal mess taking up useful space beside you.

Oh no he DIDN'T.

  


  


You see black. You just loathe Ampora SO MUCH you could almost say you hate--

  


H3y b4b3, l3t's t4k3 4 ch1ll p1ll, you d1g?

  


  


Strangely enough... you do? The metaphorical pill you take is chilly as all get out, bringing you back from the brink of almost initiating a caliginous quadrant with Cronus Ampora and into the waiting arms of purely platonic distaste for his very existence. Yikes! What the fuck were you thinking?! Thankfully you had Latula there to keep your poor-decision-making ass in check.

...hmm, interesting.

  


you know what, I'm gonna take you up on that offer Latula

let's ollie the fuck outta here 38)

  


Together, hand in hand, you head back toward the city, leaving a flabbergasted Cronus Ampora in your wake.

Because fuck that guy.

(But not literally.)

  



End file.
